Re-Entry is Hard and I’m Not Okay

It’s been two months since I got home from the Race.

For the first month, I swear, I was fine. I was surrounded by my best friends and my family. Bless the Lord, oh my soul, I ate Chik-fil-a probably four times a week. I preached in church without crying.

To be honest, I didn’t cry at all in that first month. I was caught up in the familiarity of home, soaking in all the love my newly-retired parents and my friends on summer break could give me. Not every Racer is so lucky, I know, to have a place to come back to that fits so well.

This second month has been… different.

For example: I’m standing outside the largest REI in the country. There was a mix-up with my account, and I was embarrassed in front of the cashier and Hilary, my new roommate. Outside, I’m trying not to cry and also calling my mom, ostensibly to figure out the mix-up with the REI membership but mostly because I need to hear her voice right then, so that I don’t cry in front of all the rest of my new roommates, who are now gathered and ready to go. Like a child, I need my mom to tell me everything is going to be okay.

That was the moment I realized I wasn’t doing okay.

//

Lately, my journal entries have been strings of questions.

Is it okay that I cry so much now? Should I have moved to Seattle? Am I a coward for being so scared?

I have struggled to find language to explain how God communicates for a long time. It’s easiest to say “and then God spoke,” but God does not speak to me. God is not silent; God is also not audible, and hardly ever like fire or rushing wind or immediate answers, like I and others have tried to make God out to be.

In this season, God is like a seed. Like something small and surprising, nestled in damp soil. God is a thing to be nourished, the point of all my hopes.

So in the silence that always follows my list of questions, I sense the presence of the Spirit: because my faith feels like a field lying fallow, and I hope there is something beneath the surface, waiting to emerge.

//

In this second month after the Race, I moved into a new community with five total strangers. (A weirdly familiar experience.)

Barbara Brown Taylor once wrote about being asked to speak, and when she asked what she should speak on, her friend replied, “Tell us what’s saving your life right now.”

Right now, what’s saving my life is these five strangers.

I have one roommate who says profound, deeply-felt words with a gentle voice. One is the most brilliant and passionate person I’ve ever met, and another one is wise and caring beyond his years. One entrusts his story to others with insane courage. And another carries his family history, his life story, and his passions like the sacred things they are.

They are so beautiful. They are so different from me, and they are what’s saving my life right now.

I’m not okay right now. I’m overwhelmed by a lot of things, like REI and my community’s monthly grocery budget and not having to constantly be in the same room with someone. What I’m learning from my roommates is how okay this is, to not be okay. I get to come home anyway.

God is like this, too. God can be a seed and a home, all at once.

Probably, in the next couple of weeks (or months), I will call my mom again just because I need to hear her voice. I might cry in the grocery store (but I really hope I don’t). I will probably have another moment where I am confronted with how hard the Race was, and all the ways it is still affecting me.

But I still to get to come home. And I get to make a home, with the people who are currently saving my life, so that someday I might do the same for them.

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5 thoughts on “Re-Entry is Hard and I’m Not Okay

  1. I really needed this today. Just in the last few days I’ve finally been able to catch my breath since coming home and it is hitting me how much I still need to grieve and let go of. I cry looking at pictures and answering questions about the race. Thinking about it is hard but necessary and I am realizing that only now I’m having a chance to do that. Thank you for writing this and reminding me that it is a process find that it’s okay to only now after a month and a bit not be alright.

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  2. Still breaking my heart. Change is just hard, that’s all there is to it. I love you more. Always. Jesus loves you, too, and will reveal everything to you in the right time. In the meantime, and even then, you can call me all you want, even twice a day, because I always need to hear your, voice, too. Mom

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  3. Carrie, thank you as always for your openness and your honesty. I ALWAYS love reading your blogs and just hearing your insights. You always see things with such clairty. My friend, you are not alone. I think it’s been hard for each of us in our own time and in our own way. I’m right there with you. Still trying to be ok with not being ok and also trying to sift through all my thoughts and feelings about the Race. I’m so proud of you and so so glad that you have a new group to walk through this weird time with you. I love you so very much and I’m always here for a venting phone call (or any phone call really). -Ross

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